Are you looking for someone, sir?
by That's Absurd My Dear Sir
Summary: Mystrade slash. Kind of. Victorian AU. In which Lestrade is a rentboy and Mycroft is Mycroft. And too much history stuff.
1. Chapter 1

My first fanfiction (except the shameful Pride and Prejudice Darcy/Bingley one, but it was never published), and please note I still haven't seen the second season of Sherlock. Also, Enlgish isn't my first language. Enjoy.

* * *

The weather was surprisingly good, given it was almost autumn and it wasn't raining. That, however, was way too little to make Mycroft Holmes happy. He has always been a busy man, this year, however, was a quite hard one. There was a conference in Berlin that he was meant to take care of. It was a hard work, given that the Empire had colonies in Africa and it would be really easy now to do something wrong. One little mistake and he could be hung, and everything he has ever done for the state couldn't save him.

He was walking through a street. At this time of night there weren't many people and almost no cabs. A shame. He'd like to see someone who wouldn't be talking about politics. There was his brother, yes, but he wouldn't be a good choice. Probably on some overnight crime-solving journey. He didn't really have anyone except that, and sometimes he thought he should at least hire more servants, but it was too dangerous. He didn't trust anyone. Of course, there was this man – he haven't seen them many times, and he despised all theories about this so-called "love at first sight", but he surely find him attractive. Lestrade, his name was. He was one of Scotland Yard's policemen, and as much as Mycroft would have loved to talk to him a bit, at least see him more he just couldn't. Work. Not to mention it was just stupid of him – finding a man whose job was to make people respect law attractive, while what he felt for him was clearly not so much agreeing with the law.

The walk was relaxing. He couldn't forget about his troubles, but at least he could try. More, he could even get thinner. Sherlock finally wouldn't make fun of him. Not that it was his most important problem right now. He started to swing his umbrella back and forth. A nervous twitch.

The street wasn't really dark, but he hoped to come past it quickly. It was quite busy during a day and not really dangerous, but he has heard about some... suspicious people showing there lately. Yes, he had to take care of it, too. Later. He looked around.

A quite tall man in a dark coat and ragged bowler was standing there, leaning onto a street lamp, the only one on this street that wasn't working. Still, in the light of other lamps - and it wasn't really this dark, yet - Mycroft could see, as well as feel his gaze following the government's moves. However, he could not see any more of his face, hidden behind a collar and a hat.

"Are you looking for someone, sir?" he shouted, an undoubtedly fake smile coming onto his face. Holmes didn't have to look around, there could be only one person this shout was addressed to. Mycroft furrowed his eyebrows. As a politician - more important than the prime minister himself, in fact, Gladstone was just his little pet - he could, of course, understand various types of insinuations; and this one wasn't very sophisticated. Not really a honest one, too.

"I guess I am", said Mycroft, coming a bit closer to the man. He noticed his hair was grey, but it could be just the lamps' light making an illusion.

"Do you have a cigarette?"

Mycroft looked at him blankly, but took out a cigarette case. Silver, shining in the lights of street lamps, with his name engraved on it. He opened it and waited for the man to take it himself, but he just looked Mycroft in the eyes. Holmes took one glove off, took one cigarette, previously rolled, out and handed it to the man with two fingers. The man leaned towards it and took it with his teeth, his lips touching Mycroft's ungloved fingers. He was staring into Holmes' eyes all the time, quite coldly and defiantly.

"Don't you need matches?" asked Mycroft, coldly as well.

"I'm not a cheap man, sir", a faint resemblance of a playful smirk showed on the man's face. "You won't buy me for a cigarette. Even if you have matches as well."

He put his hand into Mycroft's pocket and took out a a box of matches.

"How much, then?" asked Mycroft bluntly. He was so tired of this playing around.

"Oh, it depends on your needs, sir", the man lit the cigarette and gave the box back.

"Surprise me", said Mycroft. He handed him a banknote.

The coated man turned around and went away. Holmes followed him quickly. They finally got to a ghastly, sleazy room on the second floor of an as ghastly building.

"What's your name?", asked Mycroft quitely as he passed through the room's door.

"Technically speaking, you don't _have_ to know my name."

"I'd like to, though. I'm tired of nameless faces."

"You can call me Greg, Greg Lestrade.". The inspector was already standing inside the room, without his hat and coat. The room was dark, lit only by a gas lamp that was standing on a cabinet by the window. Still, Mycroft could see his whole face. Now he knew, he has seen him before somewhere. Of course he had. Lestrade looked quite exasperated. Just wanted to get it over, probably. "Now, will you come, or is your payment for nothing?"

"Inspector Lestrade? From Scotland Yard?" he asked, though, of course, he could recognize the face he adored so stupidly.

Greg appeared shocked for a moment, but soon a nervous smirk showed on his face: "Oh, no, the _other_ Lestrade."

"My brother told me about you."

"Your brother?"

"Sherlock Holmes."

"Oh. Now I remember seeing you somewhere. Well, I will remember to tell mister Holmes about meeting his brother in such... extraordinary conditions." Lestrade smirked once again.

"If you will, I can easily get the whole London – and certainly Scotland Yard - to know about your second job, Greg." Mycroft was smiling cheerily.

"He killed an innocent lady."

"Who?"

"Your brother. A widow. Two days ago. Shot her right through her head. Claims he had to do it in order to figure out the case."

"If he says so, it's probably true."

"I doubt it. We have no clues."

"I can get him out."

"How?"

"I have connections."

"I sure hope you don't count me in."

"Still, I do have connections. However..."

"However?"

"I won't act now. He will figure something out himself, eventually."

Nobody said anything more for a while. Holmes tried not to look and Lestrade. How could he face him now, that he knew both his faces? Now he knew that anonymity was a privilege. Lestrade, instead, as if he wanted to make him angry, stared at him with a blank expression. He sat on the bed in the corner. Mycroft followed him, fully dressed, with both gloves on and an umbrella in is hand and stood just in front of him. Lestrade, expression as blank a before, rose a hand to unbutton Holmes' trousers, but Mycroft caught Greg's hand in the middle of the move.

"Why are you doing this?"

"Well, you have paid me-"

"No, I meant...", he picked the umbrella up and made some undefined moves. "_This. _Don't you have a wife, a family?"

"Well, that's why I do that."

Lestrade could swear Mycroft's face saddened a little when he heard about his family.

"What?" asked Holmes, confused.

"My wife doesn't want to see me."

"Oh. Is she one of these... feminists? Does she have a lover? That's quite common these days, you see..."

"No, that's my fault. Police officer isn't a dream career, you see. I spend days, often nights at work and still we hardly have enough money to live in a flat in the respectable part of the city. Half of my family is unemployed. I have to take care of them."

"That's why you spend even more time at... work, now?"

"Exactly."

"I see."

Lestrade looked down. His expression was still awfully blank and it horrified Mycroft. He was frozen for a moment, and Greg used it to free his hand and start to get to work, unbuttoning Mycroft's trousers, which confused Holmes even more. Despite everything, he brushed his hand off and looked down at him, concerned.

"Greg, look, I can help-"

"I don't want to be dependent. I don't even know you. It's my family and my matters."

A thought that he would really like Lestrade to do what he has paid for has crossed Mycroft's mind, but he ignored it. Maybe he will regret it. Well, he probably will, given he surely won't see Lestrade again. But he had more important matters to sort.

He put the free hand on Lestrade's shoulder and was slowly moving it to his jawline.

"Will you finally take what you've come for? Because time is running out."

Mycroft was silent. He took his hand away and was just going to leave, but he stopped suddenly and, not turning around, took the cigarette case out of his pocket and tossed it on the bed. Without a word he left, shutting the door behind him.

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Yeah, Mycroft is a cockblock. I feel like a troll now. I mean, like Mofftiss' daughter. I'm still thinking whether I should write next chapter or is it a oneshot.


	2. Chapter 2

Thank you all for reviews :D I love you guys. Let's make polygamy legal so I can marry you all.

Also, the story takes place about 2 years before Watson, so sorry, no Johnlock.

I am so, so sorry about history rambling (because that's mainly what this chapter is about). There had to be a base for at least a resemblance of plot (I can't write plotless fluff or PWP)

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"Sherlock. My dear brother", said Mycroft Holmes, trying very hard to sound sarcastically.

Mycroft was standing in an open doors that led to his brother's flat. From what he knew, Sherlock could barely afford it and and was in search of a flatmate. With no success, obviously. Nobody would like to live with Sherlock Holmes.

Sherlock didn't even bother to look at him. He was laying on the sofa, hands clasped together as if he was praying, with an untied bow tie, vest and no collar.

"I think it was awfully wrong of Mrs. Hudson to let you in."

"I don't doubt it was. What have you done?"

"Gone out of arrest, solved a case. What have you done? Lost a pound?"

"Two, in fact. Why on earth did you shot an innocent woman?"

"How do you know?"

"I am the government, Sherlock, not the politicians. I know everything, not nothing. And I have met your... colleague."

"Colleague? Who? I don't suppose you meet the homeless beggars."

"Mr. Lestrade."

"Oh, him. He is not important. Well, brother, since you are here and I'm awfully bored, let me tell you something", Sherlock sat on the sofa. "You now take care of the Berlin Conference, don't you?"

"I sure do."

"Well, then, I think you should know that I have killed this not-so-innocent woman pretty much because of it. Lestrade's family, you see, has some business in Africa – not much legal, or at least not much moral, I suppose. I don't know much yet – bloody arrest, I need a helper – but I thought it would interest you."

Mycroft's smile suddenly disappeared.

"What do you mean?"

"I don't know much more. Yet. You may now go out, since I don't think you should any more business here. And you are interrputing my... thoughts. About. The case. Obviously" finished he, coldly, as he laid back down.

For the first time in his life Mycroft did just what his brother told him to do.

The known street has, since the meeting, become Mycroft's favourite place outside of Diogenes Club. But the club was too silent for now, he didn't need thinking at the moment. He, for the first time in his life, needed action.

He has been visiting Lestrade for two months now. Two times a week, sometimes more. Of course, he always paid, but refused to take what he's paid for. Not from confusion now, but from fear and uncertainty. He has been, since two months, trying to ask the Inspector about his family's business, but was too afraid he will scare Greg. He didn't take him for a coward, but who wouldn't be scared of the government's unhealthy interest in your family's immoral – and probably illegal – business?

This time it wasn't so late. There were still many people on the street, but Mycroft quickly noticed the similar coat. He liked to believe that Lestrade smiled when he saw him, but it was highly unlikely. Even if he did, Holmes couldn't see anything behind his coat's turned up collar.

"Listen, this is serious", said Lestrade when Mycroft came closer to him, and now he was sure that he wasn't smiling at all. "I have no time for your talks, no matter who you are. I wouldn't even if you were the God. I need to help my family and are many more clients who take less time to... satisfy."

"You are the first man – except my brother – who dared to tell me to fuck off."

"I didn't say "fuck off", but I damn well will if you don't understand the more polite version."

Of course, Mycroft wasn't planning to obey. The Berlin Conference was ending soon. He needed to get the problem off his head to finally be able to think about something else, and not end swinging on a rope to the parliament's delight.

Holmes tried to look Lestrade into his eyes, but it was impossible. First, he was turning his head away every time he noticed Mycroft's gaze. Second, his bowler was covering his eyes pretty well.

"I have seen Sherlock. Two months ago. Not sure where he is now, but he told me you should know why he shot this poor woman."

"I didn't know at the time, but I know now. I also know that it's none of your business."

"It's something to do with your family, doesn't it?"

"It' not quite moral, as you're probably aware." Lestrade was smirking, obviously making fun of the older Holmes.

"I am the government. I have seen – God, I have done more immorality than you could possibly imagine."

"They dismissed me. From police, I mean. Touching your little foolish heart, isn't it?"

Mycroft didn't say anything, his expression unchangeable.

"Why do you think my family situation is of your concern? It's the first time I hear about the government caring about people's life situation."

"The woman my brother killed – the widow – he was a widow of someone from your family, wasn't he?"

"...How do you know?", asked Lestrade, suddenly bewildered. He put his bowler up a bit, to look at Holmes.

"I am smart. But you knew that already," Mycroft said happily. He didn't know that. Sherlock did a good job playing with him, hiding all clues. Lucky guess, nothing more. He leaned in a bit, so that Lestrade could hear his whispering.

"She was a wife of a distant cousin of mine. He died. In Africa. That's really all you need to know."

"He had some business there, right? After his death it was hard for your family to continue that, am I right? That's why you are... well, where you are."

Inside his head, Mycroft was thinking rather about why did Sherlock kill an innocent woman.

"But it wasn't just about the death...", he continued. "It was about the times changing. It was both the cause of his death and of you family's poverty, wasn't it? In Africa..."

That was right. The Berlin Conference. Sherlock killed her just to show Mycroft something he may be interested about. And that he may change at the conference. The older Holmes' has sworn to remember to hate Sherlock for this.

"So, somehow, your family had a slavery business in African countries. That's why you came all tanned from holidays one day."

Holmes' long nose was almost touching Lestrade's one.

"Fuck off."

* * *

Mycroft threw a banknote at him and went away, not looking back. He wondered if their every meeting had to look like that.

There is, I think, going to be a next chapter. I mean, I have planned it and all... for you... guys... *creepy stare*

Sorry for uberlong wait and history rambling. I have bad and good news for you, though. The good news is, I have finished junior high, so I will have more time for writing now. The bad news is, since I have finished junior high and there are vacations, I am off to London until July 18th, so, probably, no updates for these two weeks.


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